


Evenings Most Illuminating

by lady_libertine



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dream Sex, Dreamwalking, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation with an Audience, Oral Sex, party in the fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_libertine/pseuds/lady_libertine
Summary: Dorian Pavus has never been a Fadewalker.  In the Fallow Mire, that changes, purely by accident, and naturally, Solas' interest is piqued.Dorian and Solas share several nightmares, and a few extremely good dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> time for a) more dorian/solas and b) lots and lots and LOTS of fade nerdery

The whole affair started with a nightmare.

Perhaps it was inevitable. The Inquisitor and her companions had been stranded in the Fallow Mire when a flood had washed out the only road in or out of the wretched place. They had been forced to occupy the ruined keep where the Inquisition soldiers had been held hostage by the Avvar, and everyone there was slowly but surely going completely mad with cabin fever. 

So it was only natural that _someone_ was going to have nightmares. 

It had been quite a normal dream, at first. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the normal jumble of memory and fantasy that could be forgotten upon waking. 

Then Dorian found himself in a banquet hall, huge and opulent, the very walls oozing nostalgia. The long table down the middle of the room was set with lavish dishes, each of which made his heart burst with sudden homesickness. 

As one did, he reached for a dish, a chicken roast in Tevene fashion. He picked up a knife and cut into it—and when he did so, it began to bleed.

He shoved the dish away, and reached for a vegetable one. That, too, began to bleed the moment it was touched. He stood up, away from the table, and when he looked around he saw that every last one of the dishes was bleeding. First a trickle, then a pool began to spread on the tiled floor in front of him. 

He looked around, and realized the paintings on the wall bled as well, it might have been an ocean of blood, he could smell it, taste it in his mouth--

A man stood on the opposite side of the table. He was beautiful, though Dorian could not have described what about him made him so. 

“Come here,” said the man, his smile too broad, his teeth sharp as knives. He reached out a hand. “Bright jewel, you ache so. Come, I will soothe you.”

His voice was so calm, deep and soothing, that it made Dorian want to move towards him. His thoughts felt slow, thick and heavy, but he knew something was wrong.

The man beckoned again. 

Dorian's head ached. 

“Come here,” Hands tipped with gleaming claws caressed Dorian's face, and it seemed that without his wanting to, he'd moved forward, or perhaps the man had crossed the distance himself. “Oh,” that silken voice was so comforting, it made Dorian's mind move like syrup. This wasn't right, and he could feel his hands alight with magic, as if he were charging a spell. “What a treasure you are. Your family doesn't appreciate you at all, do they?”

Dorian shook his head. No, something was wrong here—if he could only—make his thoughts move faster--

“Dorian,” 

That voice was so foreign it shocked him. He tore his gaze away from the man, and found a face that did not belong in his dream at all. 

Solas stood next to him, entirely out of place in this setting. He looked sharp at the edges, his eyes as gray as the sky during a storm, and seemed to exude a coolness that was at odds with the warmth and syrupy slowness of the room. 

The claws around Dorian's chin tightened. Dorian's heart was in his throat.

“Dorian, be calm,” Solas' voice was firm, but even, and oddly gentle. “You are in the larger Fade, not your own mind.”

“I--” Dorian stammered. “I--” 

Solas looked at the strange man. His grey eyes glinted, and the man drew back. They exchanged words in a language Dorian did not know, and the man vanished into mist. 

Solas reached out, and took Dorian's hands, still very gently, as if he were worried Dorian would break. “You are in the Fade, Dorian,” he said, his tone insistent. “What do you do?” 

“I--” Dorian still felt unmoored. He looked up, to where the ceiling would be, and found only an open sky. He squinted, and saw the Black City. 

“Exactly,” Solas nodded approvingly, and released Dorian's hands. “I think it would be best if you _woke up_.”

Dorian awoke with a start. He sat bolt upright, and pressed fingers to his mouth. He touched his cheeks, still feeling those claws on him.

That wasn't a normal dream, and now that he was safely in the waking world, it was easy to tell. He threw his blankets off, hurried to pull on breaches and a tunic, and left the hall, to escape into the more open areas of the keep. He hoped the night air might chase the slowness out of his mind, and cold stone on his feet helped shock him from his daze.

The Fade, Solas had said. Dorian had somehow fallen into the Fade, without realizing it. He hadn't done that since he was a child in Minrathous, and it was easy to be drawn into the Fade when mages were working nearby. He hadn't been caught off guard by a spirit like that for years—he couldn't even identify what that spirit was.

It was disorienting, and completely unlike him. 

It was also rather unlike Solas to have rescued him. Dorian went to track Solas down, and demand an explanation.

Solas was not in his bedroll, as Dorian had expected he'd be. Dorian found him outside, at the mouth of the keep, watching the Mire. He'd wrapped himself in a blanket, and was barefoot, as usual. This choice was, among many others Solas made, something which continued to baffle Dorian. 

Dorian sidled up next to him, trying to appear casual, pretending he didn't feel the cold. “Well,” Dorian said, attempting to keep the tremor from his voice. “That was certainly an adventure. Do you normally appear in other men's dreams?”

“Only when they are disturbing my own,” Solas said, eyes still on the Mire. “In any case, that was not your own dream. You were drawn to the larger Fade by a local spirit.”

“I think I would have noticed that,”

Solas shook his head. “Not always.” he finally turned back to Dorian, eyebrows raised. “And many spirits are intelligent enough to hide themselves. Of course, as your intent is largely to bind them to your will, perhaps you did not notice.”

Dorian sighed. The gentleness that Solas had exhibited in the Fade was gone entirely, his normal irritable tone back. 

“No, I suppose I can't be expected to know as much about the Fade as someone who spends their entire life there,” he said, voice dripping with irony. 

Solas tilted his head up. “Will you require rescuing again any time soon?” he asked. 

Dorian snorted, offended at the very notion. “As if that could be called a rescue!”

“You are out of the Fade, are you not?” 

“I am quite capable of handling myself without interference by cranky elves, thank you very much.” 

Solas turned back to watch the Mire again. “As demonstrated, I see.” 

Clearly that was a dismissal. Dorian simply rolled his eyes. “I'm going back to bed,” he proclaimed. “And I'll thank you not to wander into my mind again, if it's all the same to you.”

“Then I would advise you take care not to wander out of it.” 

The next morning, it was as if it had never happened. They were still stranded, Solas was still completely insufferable, and apart from a headache, Dorian felt no worse the wear   
or his close brush with the demon, or whatever it was. 

Of course, it happened again, several nights later.

This dream was another nightmare, but this one was different. 

Dorian found himself in a forest, murky and ancient. It was humid and warm, and he was reminded keenly of the forests of his homeland, and how easy it was to lose one's way. The moment he remembered how easy it was to become lost, he realized he had no idea how he'd gotten there, and no idea where he was going. 

He decided that he should keep going, as there was a path under his feet, and it must lead somewhere soon. He swore he could hear music somewhere, and in the distance, figures darted in and out of sight. 

He moved forward, chasing the phantom figures, but the further he went, the more muddled and overgrown the path became. Finally it was gone entirely, and he was thoroughly disoriented. 

“I know how you feel,” someone said to him, and he saw a woman, tiny and thin, her skin green-tinted and her hair like twigs. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked her. This didn't feel right at all. 

“I'm lost too.” she held out her hand to him. Her hands were covered in dirt, and a beetle crawled over her wrist. “Maybe we can find our way out together.”

This wasn't right. The wrongness ate at his mind, and he simply stared at her hand, not wanting to touch it.

Her expression turned sorrowful, and her form began to blur and fade. “Please, help me,” she implored. “I'm sure we could help each other.”

He did want to help her. He thought he should. She was so small, and they were both so, so lost. 

“Two heads are better than one, and all that,” he said, his voice breathless, sounding weak in his ears.

Her sorrowful expression did not lift. “Help me,” she asked again. “I know how you feel. Join me.”

He was about to reach out and take her hand when someone grabbed his wrist. The coolness of their hand shocked him, feeling different from the muggy warmth of the forest. The woman let out a surprised cry, and drew her own hand back. 

“I believe you would not be helpful to one another,” said Solas, still holding on to Dorian's wrist. “Ma fenorain, are you certain you are lost? Perhaps you simply wander.” he said to the woman, his tone kindly.

The woman blinked, and Dorian realized there were flowers and ivy in her hair. “I...you make a good point,” she said. 

Solas smiled. “Not knowing where one is is not always a bad thing.” he told her. She returned his smile, her sorrow appearing to lift.

“How would I find anything new, if I always knew where I was?” 

“Of course,” he inclined his head. 

In a swirl of leaves, the woman was gone, and Solas turned to Dorian. “Now,” his expression was much less kind. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I don't know,” Dorian stammered. “I was—I think I was—traveling? Yes, I must have been.” his mind began to put the pieces together. “Coming from Minrathous, of course, Mother never takes a straightforward route anywhere--”

Solas sighed. “Never mind,” he said. “Look up, Dorian.” 

Dorian looked up, and saw that the sky was Fade-green. The Black City loomed overhead, always at the center of everything. “...oh,” he breathed.

“We need to talk, somewhere else,” Solas said. “I suggest you _wake up_.”

Dorian shot bolt upright, promptly tangling himself in his blankets. He cursed viciously, kicking his coverings off of him. 

That _wake up_ must be some kind of spell. He'd never woken up like this before, not right out of a nightmare. He jammed himself into a pair of trousers and went to track down Solas.

He found Solas almost immediately, wrapped in a blanket and looking impatient. Abruptly, Dorian wondered if Solas was wearing clothes under the blanket, or if he'd not even bothered. It wouldn't surprise him. 

“It seems you are having difficulty keeping to your own mind,” Solas said, eyebrows raised.

“It's not my fault these—spirits keep attaching to me!”

“Your magic does draw them,” Solas reminded him. “As does all magic.”

“I have normal dreams most of the time!” in spite of himself, he began to pace. “I haven't been so—fooled by a spirit since I was a child,” he informed Solas. “This doesn't make sense.”

Solas rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself,” he said, turning away from Dorian. “Come, the sky is clear for once.”

“What has that to do with anything?” Dorian demanded. 

“It is the first time in some nights it has been clear at all.” he looked over his shoulder at Dorian. “Do you not consider that encouraging?”

“I—well, I suppose it would be good if we could leave this place,” Dorian admitted, and trotted after Solas.

Solas went up to the top of the wall that surrounded the little keep. The soldier on watch gave them a curious look as they passed, but didn't say anything. 

They sat down on the wall. Dorian bounced his leg up and down, nervous energy flitting through him. 

Solas looked at him, for once feeling a stab of sympathy for the man. “The Mire is...a difficult place in the Fade,” he said. “This place was the site of many terrible things.”

“But why does that mean that I keep—tripping into spirits?” Dorian asked.

“Have you had trouble falling into the Fade in the past?” Solas asked. He was very curious about this new development in Dorian. It was unlikely that Dorian was a Somniari, but it was clear something had changed about him. 

No, he thought that perhaps the thinness of the Veil in the Mire was affecting Dorian in some way, and perhaps his innate sensitivity to the Fade made it worse. To be honest, Solas found it intriguing to see the flare of Dorian's magic in the Fade. The Fade might have been full of wonders and memories, but people from the physical world rarely visited. Even most mages did not visit as often as Solas would have liked to have seen them do so. 

Dorian shrugged and looked away. “Not particularly. Only when I was very young, and my magic was first manifesting.”

Solas nodded. “That is common in young children,” he said. “Did it happen very often?” 

“No. Mostly when someone was working on a major spell, or...” Dorian tapped his chin. “I was in the Circle—my mother had gone to visit an Enchanter, and I...fell asleep while I was waiting for them to finish their meeting. The Veil was so thin I slipped right through—a whole horde of spirits found me.” he chuckled. “Mother was furious when one of the other Enchanters brought me out.”

“Did it stop after you gained better control of your magic? Did you ever fall into the minds of others, not simply the Fade?” 

“Others' minds? You mean their dreams?” Dorian stared at him. “No, of course not. I don't know anyone living who has that skill.”

“Yes, you do,” Solas corrected him.

“But—oh,” Dorian tilted his head to one side. “It would have been nice if you had ever volunteered that information.”

“It is most common among Somniari,” Solas explained. “The ability is—well, you could consider it similar to what Cole does, but slightly more directed.”

“Have you gone jaunting in everyone's dreams, then?”

Solas shook his head. “No, I only share dreams with those I've invited. In any case, it has been known to happen with non-Somniari mages, and indicates a certain sensitivity to the Fade.”

“Well, no, that never happened. And I've never had trouble with spirits like this before.”

Solas nodded, tugging his blanket closer. “So you have only ever accidentally come to the Fade, and only in areas where the Veil might have been damaged, or there were spirits close by.”

“I suppose so.”

That narrowed it down a great deal. “I see. You have no latent Somniari abilities--”

“That can happen?” Dorian demanded. “Maker, Solas, you need to write this down—there's so little understood about Somniari, it's criminal.” 

Solas' mouth tightened. Truthfully, the gift had been vanishingly rare even in Elvhenan. He'd been the only one born with it for some ages, and the only Somniari of Mythal's entourage. “Perhaps they are not understood because they die, or are killed.”

“Well—yes,” Dorian admitted. “That is a hazard of the south, indeed.”

“And in Tevinter, as well. A Somniari will be sensitive to spirits and demons, both. A place of great pain will draw demons.” 

Part of the reason the gift had been so rare in Elvhenan was precisely that. It was dangerous being a Somniari—the world was steeped in so much blood and violence that it was all too easy for a dreamwalker to draw unwanted attention.

“Ah.” Dorian nodded. “So, I don't have Somniari abilities. What is happening?”

“I believe your sensitivity to the Fade is making you more vulnerable to unwanted contact,” Solas explained. 

“All mages are sensitive to the Fade, that's rather the point,” Dorian pointed out.

“There is a spectrum of sensitivity.” this spectrum had been more well-defined before the Veil. 

“I think I would have heard about it before now.” Dorian didn't mean to snap—he hardly wanted engender even more ill-will in Solas than he already did, evidently simply by existing. However, it was the middle of the night, and his mind and magic were acting in ways he did not anticipate. He felt he'd earned a little irritability. 

“No, not necessarily,” instead of being irritated in response, Solas' tone was even and brusque as always. It was oddly comforting, Dorian found, that Solas was so calm in the face of such an unnerving event. “Fade sensitivity is something that it difficult to study, and largely irrelevant in this age. It can help to illuminate what specialties a mage might be predisposed towards, but only if one knows what to look for.”

“And what, exactly, would one be looking for?”

“The ease with which one accesses the Fade and spirits. Somniari are one extreme end of this spectrum, and spirit healers and necromancers are sensitive as well.”

“Who's on the opposite end?”

“Blood mages, plant mages—the more ease the mage has working with the physical world, the less sensitive to the Fade they are.”

Dorian stroked his chin. “That makes blood magic to contact spirits seem rather a pointless exercise, doesn't it?”

“It is. Blood magic, as I understand it, is best used to affect physical beings.” Solas had never been particularly drawn to blood magic, but he had known many talented blood mages in his time. “It can be extremely powerful when used to healing, as well as combative, purposes.”

“Healing?” Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. You know, I've read about blood magic being used to heal historically—but we don't use it anymore. Not like that, anyway.” his voice went a little soft at that. 

“Superstition,” Solas said with a shrug. 

“So, if necromancers tend towards the sensitive...”

“Then, a place of such extreme death and pain as the Mire will likely affect your magic and your dreams. In any case, you must learn to better control your dreams and thoughts.”

“How?”

“There are some Somniari exercises used for this purpose,” Solas thought back to the lessons imparted upon him when he was young. He had constantly fell in and out of various dreams and nightmares, drawn from spirit to dream to spirit again, endlessly buffeted back and forth until he gained a measure of control. He'd given members of his home temple horrific nightmares and wandered in and out of their dreams for months before someone had figured out what was happening. “One of the most important is the ability to induce a lucid state in your dream; once this is accomplished, you can regain control of your surroundings.”

“I know that,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Whatever you might think of Tevinter education, I'm aware of that much.”

Solas snorted. “Clearly, it did not sink in enough for you to learn it,” he said. 

“Fine, what do you know, oh learned Fadewalker?” Dorian said, voice utterly laden with sarcasm. 

“A great deal more than a necromancer on the subject, that is for certain,” Solas said. “Tell me, are your dreams often lucid? Is it a skill you cultivate?”

Dorian hummed to himself. “Not often, no,” he admitted. “I haven't had much need of lucidity in my dreams as of late.”

“Well, that is a large portion of your problem,” Solas said. He glanced up at the sky, and with a frown, noted that wisps of clouds were beginning to cross in front of the stars again. “You know techniques for inducing lucidity?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then that is the first thing you should do.” 

“And then what?”

“Well, lucidity allows one to remove themselves from the Fade, for one,” Solas explained. “It does take a while to master it.” 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Right. And is that the only thing I can do? What if I come across a hostile spirit?”

Solas furrowed his brow. “For one, a hostile spirit only has as much power as you give it. If you leave the Fade, it can do nothing more to you.”

Dorian sighed. “Well, that's not necessarily true around here, is it?”

“Then enter the Fade with different preconceptions,” Solas expalined. “Your perceptions will warp the Fade around you. Anticipate hostility, and you will receive it.”

“Anything else?”

“If you wish, I could enter your dreams and try to direct you,” Solas said. “Many of the Somniari techniques for control are best exercised in dreams.”

Dorian peered at him. “So you learned the hard way, did you? Or was there a Somniari knocking around wherever you were?”

Solas inclined his head. “I did have a teacher—spirits could assist, but a midwife with magical gift did as well.” his first teacher had been another Somniari, a healer with a specialization in midwifery. Her Somniari talents were not as strong as his own, but she knew enough to help him stop falling into the dreams of others. 

“Right,” Dorian looked highly dubious, but didn't press Solas further. “Well, I don't particularly want you wandering into my head, but I suppose if I fall into the Fade again, I wouldn't stop you from helping me,” he said. 

Solas shrugged. “If you wish. Your presence in the Fade is quite noticeable.” Dorian had been like a beacon of magical fire both times he'd slipped into the Fade. His magical presence burned like a bonfire, lighting up the Fade and drawing attention from everything nearby. Solas was amazed he hadn't had this problem before. He got to his feet. “You will be best served by going back to sleep, and attempting to control your dreams as soon as you are able.”

Dorian stood up as well. “Be honest, you just want to go back to your bed, don't you?” he gave Solas a mischievous grin. 

Solas huffed. “I do not appreciate being woken by your mistake, it is true,” he retorted. 

Dorian rolled his eyes, and the two parted ways, to return to bed. Fortunately, for the rest of the night, Dorian's dreams were normal. He did practice some of the lucid dreaming techniques he knew, but he didn't need them. Inducing lucidity was a common practice among young mages, even if it wasn't commonly used. 

The next two nights were much the same. Dorian, to his chagrin, did feel much better using the lucidity techniques, as Solas had suggested.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys are huge nerds

However, on the third night, Dorian fell again. This time, Dorian knew the feeling of a dream that wasn't his own, and noticed the change. However, this one felt...different.

He was immediately lucid, for one. The Fade around him resembled the Mire more than anything else had before, and he saw ghosts and wisps of buildings, all of which faded when he tried to take a closer look. 

As he wasn't in immediate danger, he didn't feel the need to wake himself up. Perhaps he could learn to control this ability better, or at least make sure it didn't control him. He walked through the mirror image of the Mire, seeing ghosts of people and events all around him. 

In the distance, under the flickering image of a tree he saw a man and a woman talking. The woman was enormous, taller even than Iron Bull, her hair aflame with purple fire. Her skin was purple as well, like a flower, and she wore a faded indigo dress. Of the man, Dorian could only make out a cape of dark fur, long auburn hair, and the very tips of pointed ears. 

Dorian approached them, and the woman caught sight of him.

The woman vanished into violet mist, and the man turned to face him. In a breath, he'd turned from the stranger in the cape to Solas. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Dorian blinked. That was disconcerting. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Who were you talking to?” 

“An old friend,” Solas said with a shrug. “Did you accidentally come here again?” he was gentler than in the waking world, Dorian realized, his tone much less caustic. 

“I did,” Dorian said. “But I don't know what true me.”

“Hmm,” Solas rubbed his chin, thinking “It is possible my friend's presence drew you. She has a rather distinct strength of will.”

“What kind of spirit is she?”

“The feeling she embodies is...complex,” Solas said, and he began to walk, drawing Dorian away from that particular spot. They wandered the Fade-Mire, idly traversing the paths. “I suppose you could call her Knowledge, or perhaps more accurately, want of Knowledge.”

“Why did you look different when you talked to her?”

“Oh—when I last spoke with her, I looked different. I merely assumed the appearance she would be comfortable with.”

“Different? You can look different?”

“Of course.” 

“I can't do that.” 

“You can—the world of the Fade is one of your mind,” Solas reminded him. “Your shape is not so solid as it is in the physical world.” 

“...right,” Dorian wasn't sure how he felt about that. It seemed a disconcerting notion, to be able to change one's face at will, even in a dream. “You've met her before? You never said you've been here before.”

“Oh, it was briefly, a very long time ago,” Solas said, waving a hand. “She is one of the few interesting aspects of this place.” 

“What did you look like for her?”

Solas glanced at him, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“What did you make yourself look like when you spoke to her?”

“Why?”

“I'm curious. I saw long hair,” Dorian teased.

Solas rolled his eyes, and for a moment he looked like someone altogether different. Dressed in furs and leather armor, long auburn hair braided with tiny beads tumbled from his crown. He had a scratch on one cheek. Then, just as quickly, the Solas Dorian knew returned. 

“That hair makes you look rather adventurous,” Dorian said. “How long ago did you meet her?”

“Some years,” Solas said. He had actually last met her thousands of years ago, when she was an ally against the Evanuris. They had first met when he was very young, a wild child doing his best to do everything the opposite of what was expected He looked at Dorian. “Do you wish to leave here? Or do you want to stay?”

“We don't have to leave right away,” Dorian said. “I rather like this being asleep, but still talking business. It's not often I get to do it.”

Solas drifted towards a huge, flickering tower. Dorian squinted at it. “What is that?”

“I do not know,” Solas touched the stone of the tower. “What does it look like to you?”

“A Tevinter mage-tower,” Dorian said. “But we didn't see any Tevinter ruins here.”

“No, I think if there were Tevinters here, they left long, long ago,” Solas said. 

“Well, it hardly has much to attract,” Dorian pointed out. “Did you find out why the swamps are the way they are?”

“An accident with the Veil,” Solas said with a shrug. “That is why it's so thin, why the bodies rise from the waters.”

“A necromantic accident, do you think? Or something else?” Dorian stroked his chin, watching the tower. It seemed to change and shift before his eyes. “I know a plague drove the villagers away, but that doesn't account for the walking dead.”

“No, it doesn't,” Solas agreed. “I believe it's possible that it was a healing accident—the Mire only suffered the undead after the plague.”

“What kind of healer ends up summoning endless undead?”

Solas gestured for Dorian to follow. “Here,” they came to a wooden house, or what looked like a wooden house. Solas raised a hand, and the door creaked open. Inside were ghosts. The image of a woman hurried about the place, and on the floor were the shapes of people, sleeping or ill.

“That is, I believe, the healingwoman of the village,” Solas explained, pointing to the woman. 

“Right...” Dorian watched her. From one moment, she seemed a saintly figure, glimmering with white light, murmuring words of kindness, endlessly patient. Then, as he continued to watch her, she changed, her face more haggard, words sharper. She sat slumped at a table near the door, head in her hands, shoulder shaking. The people she cared for did not seem to recover. “You think she did a spell that was too large,” Dorian said.

Solas nodded. “Watch,” as they watched, the woman got up, took a breath, and raised her hands. Light began to pour from them, first a normal amount, then more, until the whole house was filled with it. Dorian had to shield his eyes. When the light was gone, the woman collapsed, and all around her, people began to move, but she didn't. At last, the woman's figure faded, and her charges, though moving, did not seem to be well. 

“She killed herself with that spell,” Dorian breathed. “She must have used all her strength to try and heal everyone at once.”

Solas nodded. “And the force of it, and her death, rent a hole in the Veil,” he said. His tone was somber, his face grave. “She died trying to defend her people, but she doomed them instead.” 

Dorian looked at him. Solas' eyes were fixed on the spot where the woman was. “Come on, perhaps there's somewhere a bit less grim we could go, if we're going to be here the whole night,” he urged. “There has to be something good around here.”

Solas seemed to shake himself. “Oh—of course,” he nodded. “In any case, this sort of memory isn't very...healthy for someone who isn't experienced in Fadewalking.” they left the little house. 

“What do you mean, not healthy?”

“You haven't learned to walk through the Fade quietly,” Solas explained. For once, he didn't seem annoyed, simply matter-of-fact. “Your feelings and magic send up a massive sign for everyone around to see. Seeing a memory like that can make it worse. You must learn to master your emotions if you are to walk the Fade without attracting unwanted eyes.” 

“Mastering oneself is the first thing a mage learns,” Dorian said. “I'm hardly an apprentice, lighting a fire every time I get in a snit.” 

“No,” Solas agreed. “But mastering your magic in the physical world is different from mastering it in the Fade. There are different rules—it is a different branch of magic entirely.” 

“You must have the opposite problem, then,” Dorian said, a sudden realization occurring to him.

“What do you mean?” 

“Knowing all the rules of the Fade better than the ones of the physical world,” they'd walked into a wooded glade, where the trees danced and swam as if underwater. “I mean, you lit yourself on fire _last week.”_

Solas frowned. “Fire is not as cooperative as it could be,” he muttered. 

Dorian laughed, and the sound made flowers bloom under their feet. Solas glanced down, then knelt to pick one.

“What are you doing?” Dorian demanded, baffled. 

Solas rose, and handed the flower to Dorian. It was small, the petals white and sharp, surprise and delight folded into the texture of it. It was like holding a small piece of mirth in his hands. It made Dorian dizzy. 

“You see?” Solas said. “Your feelings impact the Fade.”

“This doesn't seem so bad,” Dorian said, inspecting the flower. “Surprising, yes, but not bad at all.”

“No, it isn't,” Solas agreed. “But these are only from a temporary burst of emotion, and a positive one. Think of what could happen if you let more of your feelings affect the Fade around you.” 

“Ah,” Dorian nodded. “Yes, I see how that might be a problem.” 

“I believe this would be a good time for you to return to your own mind,” Solas said. “Do you know how to do that, without waking up?”

Dorian pursed his lips. “No,” he admitted. “Usually the policy is to wake up immediately.”

“Generally a good policy,” Solas said. “However, not always useful. Here,” he took Dorian's hand, and held it up. “Do you see this?” there was a golden tie around Dorian's wrist he'd never seen before, nor had he felt it.

“I do now,” Dorian said, surprised. Solas' hand was cool on his, and it was a bit distracting. “What is that?”

“It's a tie to your own dream,” Solas explained. He held out his own hand, and Dorian saw a silver-blue tie gleaming around his wrist. “It isn't visible unless one is looking for it, and one must concentrate to see it.”

“How did you make it appear like that?”

“I am well-versed in guiding people through their dreams,” Solas shrugged. “And in any case, you cannot absent your body without a way back. Otherwise, you would simply be dead.” 

“I suppose so,” This was all turning Dorian's head a bit. He really did want to be back in the physical world, where he could write things down and laugh without making flowers bloom. He thought perhaps that's where the myths of elves making plants grow with their songs came from. 

“So, follow the lead back to your dreams,” Solas said. 

“Is this another Somniari trick?” 

Solas inclined his head. “Somniari are usually the ones who desire to travel between their own dreams and others' most often,” he said. “Most mages do not need to know it.”

“Are you going to stay here?”

“Yes,” Solas nodded.

“Don't you prefer your own dreams at all? It seems quite dangerous here.”

Solas simply smiled. “No, not if one knows what they are doing.” 

With that, he released Dorian's wrist. Dorian could still see the glowing golden tie, and he followed it. After he reached its end, he was back in familiar territory again. He wasn't sure where his mind ended and the Fade began, but there was a definite change in his surroundings. 

They were only in the Mire another week. Finally, the flooding was beginning to abate, and the roads were able to be traversed again. Even so, there was one more shared dream, and this one was the worst yet. 

It came in the last night in the Mire, and Dorian found himself in the Fade, yet again. This time, the sky was a dark green instead of the normal pale, and there was a distinct air of sorrow. It didn't feel good, not at all, and Dorian resolved to find Solas as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately, he did. 

After searching for what seemed like ages, and having the world grow darker around him, Dorian found Solas in a tiny cave, speaking with a spirit.

Perhaps _speaking_ was a bit too generous a word. The figure that Solas was with was enormous, clad all in dark robes, its face hidden under its hood. Dorian felt like crying, and he knew that the thing must have been a Despair demon. Solas had his back turned to Dorian.

Dorian grabbed Solas' shoulder, and the scene burst into sparks, the cave vanishing, to be replaced with the more regular, foggy mirror-image of the Mire. The huge figure let out a screech like a baby's cry. 

“Come now,” Dorian said. “A despair demon? What possible use--” he stopped. Solas turned his head to face him, and he was crying. 

The demon began to loom over them again. “Dead,” it whispered, voice black and cold. “Everything, everything, dead.”

“Stop that,” Dorian said, though his knees were wobbly. “Come on, Solas,” he urged his companion. He grabbed Solas' hand. “We should leave.”

Solas nodded, hand tightening around Dorian's. “ _Wake up,_ ” he whispered, but the words didn't take at first. “ _Wake up, wake up--”_

Dorian shot bolt upright out of his bedroll. Scrambling to his feet, he went to find Solas, sleeping in the next chamber over. He found Solas sitting half-upright, cradling his head in his hands as if it pained him.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked. 

Solas simply nodded, and tried to get up.

“I never thought you could be snared in a nightmare,” Dorian helped Solas to his feet. 

Solas wiped his face. “Nightmares are as much a part of the sleeping mind as good dreams,” his voice was soft and distant. 

Dorian shuddered. “Despair demons,” he made a face. “Even the best can get caught by them.” 

Solas shook his head. “She—she wasn't a demon,” he murmured. 

“What do you mean? Of course it was.”

“No, I—I knew her.” he looked like he was going to cry again, and Dorian was not prepared at all to deal with it. “She was—she was a friend, once—and then—the Mire--” he stopped, his jaw closing with a snap. 

“Is it like...like your other spirit friend?” Dorian asked, hesitantly. The only other time he'd seen Solas lose his composure so thoroughly was in the Exalted Plains, where mages had held his spirit friend captive. 

“I...” Solas took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes. Yes, she was.” 

How horrible it was, Dorian thought all of sudden, to find your friends not simply dead, but changed. 

His thoughts wheeled abruptly to his father, to a body cut open and drained of blood, the taste of blood in his mouth...

“I'm sorry,” Dorian said. “That sounds—it sounds awful, is what it sounds like.”

Solas just nodded. 

The road was finally open again, and they returned to Skyhold. Fortunately, it seemed that whatever powerful spirits resided in the Mire, they did not leave it, and Dorian had no more strange dreams. 

He found himself thinking almost wistfully of them, even so. 

Solas, oddly, almost missed Dorian's presence. In Elvhenan, he had had many companions with whom he'd shared dreams, and he had missed it fiercely in this new world. He hadn't expected anyone to be as adept as traversing the Fade as Dorian turned out to be. It was oddly comforting, to have someone with him. 

But, as it didn't happen again, they both became distracted with other business, and it became a strange, but brief, interlude.

That was, until Halward Pavus made his ignominious entrance. 

It was a month later when Dorian met his father again, in that dingy little Redcliffe tavern. Adaar was horrified when Dorian explained the situation, and practically dragged Dorian out of there, throwing a glare over her shoulder at Halward. 

He kept himself together until they returned to Skyhold. Then he retreated to the wine cellars, planning not to move for at least a week. He drank his way steadily through bottle after bottle, determined not to stop until he was thoroughly insensible. 

“I see your trip to Redcliffe didn't go as planned,” came a voice, and Dorian looked up to see Solas standing over him.

Dorian sighed, not in the mood for banter or Solas' irritability. “What do you want?”

“Adaar was unnerved by what happened,” Solas sat down on the bench next to him, uninvited. “However, she did not tell me what exactly it was that happened.”

“We met my father,” Dorian looked down at the bottle in his hand, so he didn't have to see Solas' face. “Things happened, as they always do with him,” his mouth twisted. “Pity my mother wasn't there, we could have had a row like old times.”

Solas simply sat next to him quietly. 

“I don't know why he always does things like this,” Dorian said after a few moments of silence. He took another swig from the bottle.

“Is there any reason he could not come to Skyhold to seek you out?” Solas asked. His tone was as gentle as it had been in that first dream they shared, Dorian realized. “Is he a danger?”

Dorian snorted. “No, not a danger, not in the way you're thinking.”

“There are many kinds of danger.”

Dorian was silent for another long period. “He—he wanted to change me,” he said, and to his horror, his voice cracked. 

Solas' eyes widened. 

“With blood magic,” Dorian put a hand over his eyes. “Insane. Ridiculous. Vile. I remember—and when I saw him again--”

“It was as if your wound tore open all over again,” Solas said softly. 

Dorian laughed. “You know, that's exactly right. Who would've thought, you being right about something like that?”

“Why did he want to do that?”

“Wanted what was best for me,” Dorian's mouth twisted in disgust. “That's what he said. As if it was ever for anything but his _legacy_ ,” he spat the words, feeling bile rise in his throat. 

“He wanted to...change your mind? Or command you to do something?”

“Both,” Dorian rubbed his face. “I prefer the company of men,” he still didn't look at Solas. He still half-expected the look of disgust that accompanied him telling people that, even though in the South he hadn't seen it. “And you cannot be a member of high society and not provide an heir.”

Solas' hand was suddenly on Dorian's, and it shocked them both. “Dorian, look at me,” Solas said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. 

Slowly, Dorian looked up, and met Solas' gray eyes.

“He could never have changed you, Dorian. Not forever.”

The hand on Dorian's was warm, and Solas' storm-gray eyes never left his.

“I...” Dorian didn't know how to respond to that.

“All people are creatures of thought and spirit and magic, at their hearts,” Solas said. “He could not have changed you. Nothing can change _you._.”

“He—the spell would have made me--”

“Not you. Never you. Your body is not you.” Solas' face was frightening in its intensity. “The chains of the body are not, and cannot be, chains of the spirit.” 

“I...don't know if I can believe that.” Dorian admitted. “They've always seemed so close, to me.” 

Impossibly, Solas smiled, and the spell cast by his gaze was broken. “Of course,” he said. “You do concern yourself so with the physical world.”

Dorian stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a laugh, though he didn't think this situation was funny. “You are terrible at being comforting,” he admonished, and put his other hand over Solas' free one. “Honestly, I'd pay to see you at someone's funeral.”

“I have been told similar things before,' Solas admitted. 

“I'm not surprised.” Dorian laughed again. “Come on, help me up. I'm not sure my legs will hold me.” 

Solas helped him to his feet. He was surprised by his own actions, as physical touch wasn't something he was prone to, but he felt Dorian needed a comforting hand. 

Solas was more gentle with Dorian, after that. Dorian felt like he should have been offended, but it didn't seem like pity. Perhaps they'd simply reached common ground, as Dorian had always hoped they would. It was nice, admittedly, to be able to talk to each other without stepping on a minefield.

No, the minefield happened in another dream. 

This dream was very, very different. The air felt perfumed, Dorian tasting lust on his tongue. Everything was faintly rosy, the misty walls of Skyhold covered in crawling rosevines. 

Dorian was baffled. He hadn't fallen into the Fade for months, and never in Skyhold before. 

He walked the halls of Skyhold, trying to find Solas. He'd be able to explain why exactly Dorian was out of his own mind this time. It did not escape Dorian that he'd begun to trust Solas with dream-knowledge, and this disturbed him. He wasn't very used to trusting the knowledge of others, even in matters such as this, where Solas was an expert. 

Everything about Fade-Skyhold changed and wavered, windows appearing where they'd been walls a moment before. Skyhold had had many owners, and Dorian could see influence from many countries everywhere he walked. 

He was beginning to understand why Solas found this place so fascinating. If Dorian paused, he could see all the layers of history that had been in Skyhold, the weight of dreams and memories lost to time. It would be very easy to get lost here, and Dorian couldn't help a shudder at the thought. However interesting the Fade might be, the physical world was always the one that would hold him. 

Dorian found Solas quite by accident, when he opened a door into a bedroom—or rather, he found Solas in bed with someone.

Solas was entwined in an embrace with a man, a tall one, with long bronze limbs and a shock of dark hair. 

They were both beautifully, beautifully naked, wrapped up with each other on a huge and very comfortable looking bed. 

The man planted kisses along Solas' neck, his hands between Solas' legs. Solas made a tiny noise in the back of his throat as the man, presumably, found a sensitive spot. From here Dorian could already see a bruise forming on the pale flesh of Solas' throat, and he fought the intense urge to get closer and take a better look. 

Solas' eyes were closed, so it was the man who noticed Dorian first. Bright purple eyes met Dorian's, and the spirit startled, and vanished. 

Solas opened his eyes, and saw Dorian. Dorian winced, waiting for anger, but he didn't get it.

“Hello,” Solas said, blinking hazily. “What are you doing here?”

Solas seemed completely unconcerned by Dorian's presence. He didn't make much of a move to cover himself, and normally Dorian wouldn't mind, but it was so wildly out of character that it was unnerving. 

“An accident,” Dorian averted his eyes “Should I leave until you conjure some clothes, or...?”

“Oh,” Solas looked surprised, and in an instant, he was clad in a plain shirt and breeches. He flushed, right up to the tips of his ears. He got up off the bed and in an instant his normal demeanor was back again, the haziness vanishing. “Forgive me. The spirit's mood was...catching.”

“What was that, anyway? I didn't recognize it.”

“The spirit was one of...I think you would call it want,” Solas explained. He ushered Dorian out the door of the bedroom, and Dorian gladly let himself be ushered.

“Not a desire demon, surely?” the spirit had felt nothing like the demons Dorian had met in the past.

“No—although desire is not always such a bad thing,” Solas said. “No, this spirit was something much less forceful.”

“What you two were doing didn't look _much less forceful_ to me.”

Solas flushed even redder. “I hardly think it is your business,” he said, sounding very prim for someone who'd been naked not five minutes ago.

“I suppose not. How did I get drawn here, anyway?” Dorian asked, looking around. “The Veil isn't like it is in the Mire.”

“The spirit was an uncommon one,” Solas explained. “It is possible since your experiences in the Mire you're more sensitive to the nearness of certain spirits.”

“Ah,” Dorian wasn't sure if that was the whole truth, but it made enough sense to him. If he was already very sensitive to spirits it stood to reason that that business in the Mire could have made him moreso. “I must confess, I've never met a spirit of—ah—carnal interests who wasn't malevolent.”

Solas pursed his lips. “Want and pleasure are all to easy to turn to obsession, or debauchery,” he explained. “Pleasure and desire are not bad in and of themselves, but they are easy to change and turn. The gentler spirits tend to stay away from those who would harm them, and the more aggressive ones are those who are more drawn to the physical world.”

“And why exactly was your...friend here?”

“He was interested in Skyhold,” Solas shrugged. 

“He looked rather interested in you,” Dorian raised his eyebrows. 

“That is hardly your affair.” Solas folded his arms. It didn't escape either of their notice that the spirit had taken the shape of a tall, bronze-skinned man with short, dark hair. Dorian wasn't sure at all what to think about that.

“You never mentioned you—ah—enjoyed the company of men,” Dorian pressed. “I rather assumed you preferred women.”

“Yes, most of the time,” Solas agreed. “But all people have their benefits and drawbacks.”

“Interesting,” Dorian nodded. “So—am I just going to get drawn into the Fade every time a particularly powerful spirit is there now?”

“Perhaps,” Solas said, looking away from Dorian. “However, it seems like it is a rare occurrence. Did you recognize when you were in the Fade?”

“Yes,” Dorian inclined his head. “I suppose it isn't so bad,” he admitted. “I should be getting back to my own dreams, however.”

“Yes, you should.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to make out, in dreams

Dorian awoke. That had been profoundly embarrassing, for more than one reason. 

Dorian couldn't stop thinking of the way Solas had looked in the fade, mouth flush with kisses, chest heaving. 

Naked Solas was more appealing than Dorian had realized. Dorian covered his face with his hands—this was just what he needed, an infatuation with a cranky elf. As if his life wasn't complicated enough already.

Solas, for his part, was having problems as well.

If he was being very honest, it was probably Solas and the spirit of want who had pulled Dorian into the fade.

That was...unsettling. Solas had rarely had such a loss of control, or such an interest in another, for years upon years. 

It wasn't exactly that Solas had drawn Dorian in, but more that his thoughts of Dorian had influenced the spirit. It was hard to think clearly with Want around, but Solas should still have kept his composure.

Solas had rarely encountered one who walked so readily in dreams before, and never in this age. The way Dorian had adapted was quite surprising. 

The magic Dorian exhibited shone so brightly, a brilliant golden-white light upon the Fade's horizon. It was impossible not to be fascinated by him. 

They avoided each other for a few days, but to avoid each other forever was impossible. And anyway, Dorian didn't really want to.

It was an impulse, not necessarily the most intelligent of ones, but Dorian had never claimed her was a patient man, and admittedly, neither had Solas. 

Dorian had been trying to find more information about Somniari, and had brought the sparse texts down to Solas' office. 

“The only thing I can find on Fadewalking is Tevinter,” Dorian said, dumping the books on Solas' desk. “But even those don't have a great deal of information.”

Solas pursed his lips as he examined one of the books. “No, I can see why they wouldn't,” he said. 

Dorian couldn't keep his mind on the texts, not with Solas in the same room. He kept thinking of the expanse of skin under those ragged clothes, kept watching the pulse in Solas' neck.

Solas, for his part, was focused very determinatedly on the books. He was trying very hard not to think of bronze skin and dark hair. 

Dorian leaned over and kissed him. 

Solas was surprised, his back going straight, and after a moment he pushed Dorian away. 

“I—I don't think this is wise,” Solas stammered, ears going pink. 

“Since when have either of us been known to be wise?” Dorian said, raising his eyebrows. 

Solas took a deep breath, and Dorian worried he was going to start arguing or worse, shouting, and there was a long moment of silence where Dorian feared he had made a dangerous miscalculation. Then Solas grabbed Dorian by the lapels and returned his kiss, quite enthusiastically.

“Well,” Dorian said, when they came up for air. “Someone clearly needs more attention than he was getting.”

Solas took Dorian's chin in his hand, pressed another kiss to the corner of Dorian's mouth. “You are infuriating,” he said. 

Dorian chuckled, and wrapped his arms around Solas' waist. “So I've heard,” he said. He pushed Solas up against the desk, and Solas merely gave him a smirk, sliding his legs between Dorian's own.

“Eager, aren't we?” Dorian grinned. 

“Only to match you,” Solas raised his eyebrows. 

Dorian reached down, grabbed a handful of Solas' arse. Solas jumped, looking indignant, and in response he pressed his mouth against Dorian's throat, sinking his teeth into his skin, sure to leave a bruise.

Dorian let out a breath through his nose, and Solas smiled at him, gray eyes alight with lust and a mischievousness that Dorian did not expect. So, Dorian did the only reasonable thing, and palmed Solas' cock through his trousers.

Solas went bright red and gasped, and dug his fingers into Dorian's shoulders.

“Shh,” Dorian put his finger to Solas' lips. “Don't want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Solas looked offended by the very notion. 

“Perhaps, then, we should go somewhere more private.”

They left the office, retreating to Dorian's bedroom. Solas didn't seem to have a bedroom, which was baffling to Dorian, but he didn't feel in the presence of mind to ask about it. 

“I didn't realize you were so sensitive,” Dorian teased. “You and that Want spirit were certainly going quite hard at--”

“Do you wish to dwell on that, or do you wish to attend to current matters?” Solas demanded, sitting down on the bed. 

Dorian laughed. “Alright, alright—honestly, you'd think you wouldn't be the impatient one here.” he sat down next to Solas. “Let's see if I can get you out of—this,” he gestured to Solas' clothes. 

Solas rolled his eyes. “It will be much easier than getting you out of whatever you are wearing,” he gestured to Dorian in kind. 

Dorian took the hem of Solas' tunic and pulled it up. “We'll have to see, won't we?”

Solas' tunic came off easily enough, revealing pale skin scattered with scars, the largest of which was a large burn scar that crossed Solas' chest.

Dorian gingerly touched he edges of the scar. “Where did you get these?” he breathed. He hadn't been expecting Solas to look so battle-worn under his clothes.

“It is not important,” Solas tugged at Dorian's belt, and it came away in his hand. Solas' leggings were next, revealing equally scarred legs, and in the meantime, Solas managed to get Dorian's own tunic and trousers off of him. 

“Are smalls too civilized a concept for you?” Dorian asked, raising his eyebrows when he realized that there was nothing between Solas' leggings and his skin. 

“It is more convenient this way, is it not?” Solas pointed out. 

“Let me see you,” Dorian said, putting his hands on Solas' shoulders and gently pushing him down on the bed. “I want to see what you've been hiding under those rags,”

Solas let out a chuckle at that. 

“You're far too lovely to hide under—whatever it is you like to wear,” Dorian pressed, stroking Solas' thigh. 

“Is that so?” Solas raised an eyebrow. “I don't usually hear myself described in those terms.”

“No? Maybe it's because of your tacky sweaters.” Dorian moved from the outside to the inside of Solas' thigh, then traced one delicate finger over Solas' half-hard cock. “But it's true.”

Solas shuddered, back arching slightly. Dorian smiled.

“I like the look of that,” he said. 

“Do you indeed?” Solas' voice hitched slightly. 

Dorian rather thought he'd like to watch Solas, watch his face flush with pleasure, watch the pulse in his slender neck, and as he thought it, more images came to mind, of toys and playthings and accouterments of all kinds. 

“Yes,” Dorian said with a smile. “I do, indeed.” he took Solas' hand, guided it down to his cock. “I believe I'd like to see more.”

Solas wrapped his fingers around his cock, and Dorian delighted in the way those long fingers splayed so delicately. 

Solas raised his eyebrows. 

Dorian merely smiled. “Sometimes, a good show is all one requires.”

“Is that the case?” Solas smiled back, and he couldn't help the thrill of letting Dorian watch him, let someone see him in such a private manner. “Well, if that is what you wish...what would you have me do?” 

“I want to see how you make yourself come,” Dorian murmured into Solas' ear, heat rising in his own cheeks. “Show me how you do it at night, when no one's there to see it but spirits.” 

Solas made a low noise in the back of his throat, and wrapped his fingers more tightly around his cock. 

“Oil?” Solas asked breathlessly.

“Of course,” Dorian reached into the bedside cabinet and pulled out a bottle, which Solas gladly accepted, and poured on his hands.

He stroked his cock, first gently, delicately, his touch almost a teasing one. Dorian watched him, lips slightly parted. 

“I want to hear you,” Dorian said. 

Solas made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, almost a whimper, that made Dorian shiver. 

“I like the sound of that,” Dorian murmured. “I rather think I should like to hear more.” 

With his other hand, Solas pressed a finger into himself, moving is slowly in and out as he stroked his cock. He closed his eyes, the sensation blissful, the sense that Dorian was watching making everything sharper, the feelings more intense.

Gradually, he added another finger, and he shuddered and bit his lip.

Solas pumped his fingers in and out of himself, and he pressed his lips together, more whimpers escaping his closed mouth. It made Dorian want to kiss him and swallow those noises, those delicious sounds, so lustful and undignified coming from Solas. 

He moved faster, hips thrusting into his closed hand, three fingers inside now, and Dorian's mouth watered with the sight of it. 

When he came, come spattered across Solas' belly and chest, and he let out a long gasp, before finally relaxing.

“A marvelous performance,” Dorian said with a smile. “You look quite good like that,” and it was true. Dorian was seized with the perverse urge to come on Solas' face, watch it drip down his chin and neck. Lust and debauchery suited Solas so well, it was astonishing. “Suits you much better than your normal attire.”

Solas snorted. “Why must you go on about that?”

“Because you're lovely already, why spoil it?” Dorian hummed and reached to the side table, brought a washcloth and began to clean off Solas' chest. He sighed. “I could just picture you in silks, veils—something sheer and teasing...” 

At that, Solas laughed outright. “Teasing does not suit me.” he said. It was true; he had little patience for it. It had taken him quite some time to learn the patience that he had. 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” a smile toyed about the edges of his mouth. “Then I suppose we shall have to test that sometime.” 

Solas leaned back against the pillows, closed his eyes.

“Falling asleep already?” Dorian chuckled. 

Solas opened one eye. “You may follow, if you wish,” his eye gleamed with mischief, and he stroked Dorian's cheek. 

“Oh, may I?” Dorian felt flush with the possibilities. 

Solas' thumb ran up and down Dorian's cheekbone. “Come with me,” he said. “I don't believe we are quite finished yet.”

“How can I follow? I haven't gotten the hang of doing it on purpose yet.”

Solas smiled. “Let me show you.” 

Dorian felt himself sinking into sleep, eyelids suddenly heavy. “Oh,” he murmured, as they fell away.

This wasn't the Fade, but it wasn't Dorian's dream, either. The world around them was red, flush with roses and poppies, and they lay sprawled in a field of flowers, under the stars. 

“Where are we?” Dorian asked.

“This is my dream,” Solas said. “It's more private than the open Fade.”

“Oh?” Dorian smiled and leaned over. “And why do we need privacy?”

“Can you not guess?” Solas opened his arms, drawing Dorian to him. “I wish to repay the favor.”

“Do you indeed?” Dorian breathed, and pressed his mouth to Solas'.

Solas tasted of magic, of cool clean water, of storms. Dorian was reminded of the ocean so intensely that for a moment, they were bathed in a spray of the sea, but it did not freeze them. 

They parted, and Solas knelt between Dorian's naked thighs. 

“Oh,” Dorian raised his eyebrows, delight making golden sparks burst around them for a moment. 

Solas looked at Dorian. “I see control of yourself still eludes you in the Fade,” he said.

Dorian chuckled. “Perhaps you simply make me lose control, did you ever think of that?”

“I highly doubt you do anything you don't wish to do,” 

“You're right,” Dorian said. “First sensible thing you've said in ages.”

Solas rolled his eyes. “You are positively infuriating,” he chided, but he didn't sound annoyed at all. 

“Well, that is one of my better qualities, isn't it?”

Solas took Dorian into his mouth, and the sight of those pink lips wrapped around his cock made the flowers around them bloom. Solas looked up at Dorian, smug satisfaction on his face, and he swallowed Dorian's cock to the base. 

Dorian took in a breath at the suddenness of it, laid his hand on the back of Solas' neck. 

_Carefully_ , the dream seemed to murmur around him. 

Solas ran his tongue along the underside of Dorian's cock, and Dorian's fingers curled. He was still so damned gentle, it was infuriating. 

“I think we should go a little faster, don't you?” Dorian said, meeting Solas' eyes. 

Solas gave Dorian an open-mouthed smile, eyes gleaming with anticipation. _Whatever you wish._

The dream coiled around them both, and Dorian thrust into Solas' mouth, finding himself standing and Solas on his knees before him. 

Solas hadn't shared a dream quite like this in many ages, and he had missed it. Dreams were so much more comfortable than the physical world, and he enjoyed seeing the play of Dorian's fire across the dream-landscape. He gagged when Dorian's cock bumped the back of his throat, but it didn't matter. 

When Dorian came, every flower in the field bloomed, and Dorian slid his cock from Solas' mouth just in time for come to spatter over his cheek and down his chin. 

“You look so marvelous like that,” Dorian whispered, and it was true. “Of course, don't you always?”

Solas chuckled, and the laugh made the roses around them turn pink. “I'm pleased that you think so.”

His lips were swollen and red, and Dorian leaned down to kiss him, tasting himself on those lips. 

Solas drew him close again, and the dream grew softer, less lustful but no less pleasant. The flowers turned from red, to pink and gold, gentle and welcoming. The sky overhead turned a pale violet, the stars winking in the distance. For a time, they drifted among the flowers, not speaking, but lazily affecting the dream-landscape around them. At last, the dream ended, and it was time to wake up.

Dorian opened his eyes, gently. He was sticky with come, and he felt Solas stir beside him, presumably also waking. 

“My, my, my,” Dorian reached over and wrapped his arm around Solas. “Aren't you full of surprises?”

Solas turned over groggily, his eyes only halfway open. “Possibly,” he murmured. 

Dorian pressed a kiss to Solas' neck. “Possibly? You underestimate yourself.” 

“Underestimation of my abilities has never been my problem,” Solas said, voice still muddled with sleep.

Dorian laughed. “No, I suppose it wouldn't be.” they lay together, arms wrapped around each other, and both felt peaceful. 

They would not be together always, they both knew, but they dreams they shared were a precious and delicate thing, unable to be touched by the world outside. 

It comforted Dorian, to have memories of such things that could not be changed. And when he admitted it to himself, it comforted Solas, to see a fire inside another burn so brightly. He wanted to deny that fire, but it was so difficult, when it shone in one like Dorian. 

Perhaps he could be indeed proven wrong, by a friend.


End file.
